Lie, Steal, Cheat, Survive
by The Weakest Of Links
Summary: Two sociopaths make a name for themselves in Vale's underworld.
1. Chapter 1: The Psychiatrist

The door creaked open, and a tiny girl entered the confinement cell. Without looking at the young man wearing a straightjacket, she locked the door, and walked over to a folding chair that rested on the opposite wall. She dragged it to the small table in the center of the room, unfolded it, sat down, crossed her legs, set a folder on her lap, and put on a curious smile.

The young man hadn't stopped staring at her since she entered the room, intrigued yet confident. If they were going to throw him an oddball, he might as well play, if only for the fun of it.

The silence persisted for a minute or two, and while the girl seemed content to look into the young man's eyes and smile, the convict was busying himself with calculating. His thin, green eyes trailed over ever article of clothing, every defining feature, and from this analysis, he learned. And, as he'd do with any other piece of potentially useful knowledge, he filed what he learned away for later use.

For now, he had a game to play.

"Dear," he patronized sweetly, leering down at her, "I don't believe you're supposed to be in here…unless…do you make a habit of this?" He was silent for a moment before adding, "And by 'this', I of course mean to say, 'locking yourself into rooms with diagnosed sociopaths'."

The girl retained her smile, and simply pointed to the tag attached to her coat. The man leaned in, the straps of his dull white straightjacket shifting against his movement, and narrowed his eyes. He leaned back with a mock-astonished expression.

"Oh, do forgive me, doctor," he apologized, making sure to lay it on thick, his grin ever-present. "I assume you're my new psychiatrist?"

He was met with silence and a smile. While her apparent ineptitude for speech was mildly disconcerting, the young man was determined to have fun with this one, and retained his grin.

"Or perhaps a gift for my…good behavior?" he hummed, his eyes lingering rather pointedly at her chest.

His psychiatrist's eyes narrowed a fraction, just enough for the young man to wonder if he'd imagined it. She took the folder from her lap, turned it upside down, placed it on the table between them, and opened it. The top-most piece of paper held the details of the young man's file, as recorded from his previous psychiatrist.

"Ah, old Mrs. Ackerman," the young man sighed nostalgically. "I do miss our appointments, truly. I think she was on the verge of a breakthrough before her…unfortunate accident. You've read her notes, of course, so you tell me…" He leaned forwards in his chair, and pierced the young girl's eyes with his own.

"…Do you think she was close?" he whispered deviously.

The girl did something that even he was genuinely surprised by: she leaned forwards in kind, locked onto his eyes, and wearing that same curious smile, shook her head slowly.

Roman leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter; his arms pushed against his restraints as he felt the inclination to slap his knee out of mirth. He laughed for a good long while, until tears began to bud in the corners of his eyes. The laughter diminished into small chuckles before dying with a long sigh.

His smile dropped, and he was silent, staring. He began to lean forwards again, slowly this time. The girl made no effort to move away, but instead continued to stare into the young man's eyes, smiling without a care in the world. After an uninterrupted minute of leaning, the young man froze, and finally spoke.

"What's frustrating about new outfit," he observed quietly, shifting under his straightjacket, never looking away from the small girl's eyes, "is that my hands are tied in the most literal of fashions. Would you mind?" He blinked rapidly, indicating what he wished of her. The girl complied, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at the young man's eyes, her petite hand brushing his long and disheveled orange hair as she did so. She stashed the handkerchief before gesturing to the file.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be clearer," the young man said cheerfully, remaining hunched over the table, his eyes never leaving the tiny girl. "I was never much good at charades."

The girl nodded understandingly before lowering a finger to the file and dragging it slowly along the text.

"You wish me to read it aloud?" the young man asked, and was answered with a slight nod. "Am I the only one between us with a functional set of vocal chords, or do you think I'd revel in something like this?"

The girl shrugged and crossed her arms. The young man didn't want to look away from her, but, for the sake of this game, decided to humor her. His eyes dragged themselves off of her and onto the text under his devilishly handsome mugshot.

"Roman Torchwick," he began to drawl, as if reading off a grocery list. "Twenty years of age. Male. Orange hair, green eyes. Five foot eleven. B blood type. Currently shows signs of anti-social personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, and sociopathy. At a young age suffered from pyromania, kleptomania, insomnia, and substance abuse." He glanced up to the small girl. "Purely tame substances, I assure you. That woman and I never saw eye to eye on how Dust ought to be used."

The girl nodded, though Roman couldn't determine exactly what it meant; he decided that it was simply her way of closing a matter and moving onto the next, for at that moment she extended her hand and picked up the top page of his file. Reaching into her front coat pocket, she pulled out an obnoxiously pink highlighter, and began to mark several sections of the page. Finished, she set the page of the table and twisted it around so Roman could more easily read it. He noticed that every single piece of text she highlighted referred to the 'heinous' actions that had put him in this cell in the first place.

"Ah, a trip down memory lane," Roman sighed nostalgically. "Let's see…there's the break in on Twelfth Street…and the one on Beo Drive…oh, the Northal Bank, that one was a delight; they had such a fancy laser grid. Of course, if the teller had just given me the passcode, she would have been short two broken legs, and I would have had an easier time in the long run." He contemplated for a moment before granting the small girl a sly glance. "Then again, where's the fun in that?"

Another nod, along with the consistent smile. He continued.

"More bank robberies, more break ins, yes yes…what's this?" He leaned in and squinted his eyes. "Sung a show tune whilst beating a homeowner to death with a cudgel?" He scoffed, taken aback, and looked to the small girl, longing for clarification. "My dear new psychiatric friend, I'll have you know that the late Mrs. Ackerman was mistaken. I did _not_ beat a man to death with a cudgel. I beat a man to death with an _umbrella stand_. Cudgel…that just sounds barbaric, wouldn't you say?"

Contrary to the reaction one may have expected, the small psychiatrist seemed to smile a tad wider. Roman continued, undeterred. If anything, he was having even more fun than he'd expected, in the most unexpected of ways.

"Murder, murder, physical assault, arson, break in, robbery, robbery, murder, robbery," he went on, not bothering to read out the brief summary of events that Mrs. Ackerman had so painstakingly written out in her tiny print. "Murder, break in, robbery, arson…" He looked up with a particularly devilish grin. "…Sexual assault."

The way he stared at her was purposeful, blatant. His gaze trailed over her concealed chest, her slender shoulders, the pale skin of her neck, the soft brown and pink of her eyes and hair, and lingered on every feminine feature. Roman Torchwick was a man who was used to his earthly pleasures, and after a month of confinement, he was admittedly thankful of some interaction with a member of the female persuasion, even if she was tiny.

"I believe that _particular_ transgression," he whispered lecherously, "was the most thrilling of them all."

If the girl was put off, she certainly didn't show it. Instead, she got up from her seat and crossed the room to stand behind Roman's chair. With a surprising amount of ease, considering her stature, she pulled Roman's chair about a foot back. She then walked to his side, lifted a leg, placed it on the other side of his chair, and sat in his lap, her head level with his chest. Brushing her hair back with a petite hand, she looked up and winked, delicately biting her plush lower lip.

Roman blinked, momentarily mystified by what her intention could possibly be; by the time he'd composed himself, he'd had it figured out.

"Excuse me for my gaped expression," Roman apologized in an amused tone. "Where were we…ah, yes, you were attempting to torture me with your sexual appeal. But, if I may, for future reference, I have a preference for powerful, sultry women; not mute little girls."

She only had to feel him underneath her to know that he was a dirty liar.

The girl smirked before wrapping her legs around the back of Roman's chair, bending backwards in a display of flexibility, and snatching the folder from the table. She straightened up and made a show of plucking her pink highlighter from the front pocket of her coat, and then flipped through the folder's contents before stopping at a particular page. With a quick flick of her wrist, she underlined a single line of text, and held it up to Roman's face. The man looked at the line, then back to the small girl with a raised eyebrow.

"I _was_ for hire, yes," Roman said slowly, "before I realized it was far more profitable to just…" The gears in his head turned, and he knew. On the verge of laughter, he spoke in understanding: "You…you wish to hire me?"

The girl reached up, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, looked into his eyes, and nodded, her little smirk sweeter than ever.

"I had a feeling you weren't…" Roman looked at the tag on her coat. "…Ms. Sapphire. I was looking forwards to having a new psychiatrist to play with, but it looks as I'll be having an even more delicious treat. I do hope you were slow with her. Now…in what way can you promise me payment?"

The girl rolled her mismatched eyes and picked at the back of Roman's straightjacket, the barest of contact sending lovely shivers down the deprived man's spine. She looked into Roman's thin green eyes meaningfully, and he had a feeling that he knew what she was asking him: yes…or no? Freedom…or confinement?

"Well…it would seem, my new employer," Roman said in a happy, mock-defeated voice, "that you have given me an offer that I cannot refuse." He continued to talk even as the girl hopped out of his lap, walked around to the back of his chair, and began to fiddle with the straps of the straightjacket. "I must admit, I believed that I would be in here for at least…perhaps…another month or two. Enough time to create a wax key, or for a silly therapist to drop a bobby pin, or even to learn how to fight armed police officials with my arms strapped to my sides." The girl's fingers danced across his front and sides, loosening the multiple straps until the restraints slumped limply against Roman. He pulled the straightjacket off of himself and stood, stretching his arms high in the air.

"No use sticking around," Roman noted, looking around the familiar room distastefully for the final time. "Now, I don't suppose _you_ have a plan of exit, blabbermouth? Take the guards out one by one? Divert security via the controls in the warden's office?" He grinned seductively. "…Get personal in the ventilation shafts?"

The girl certainly had a plan, but didn't vocalize it. Instead, she walked up to Roman's front, smiling up sweetly all the while. She placed a hand in the center of Roman's chest and focused, her pink and brown eyes suddenly burning white, her pupils dilating into pinpricks. Before Roman had a chance to question what in the hell she was doing, they were both miles away.

An hour later, prison guards found the mutilated corpse of a young psychologist hidden inside the ventilation shafts.

The smell had been making the inmates antsy.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading this first chapter! If you liked it, or if you didn't, leave a review, and tell me your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Escape

Roman Torchwick wasn't what you'd call a 'strong swimmer'. He actually had a rather potent fear of the water when he was young, which might be considered as humorous given his name, if not for the many occurrences in which the spritely young thief nearly drowned. He recovered from this obstacle in his life when he was sixteen, on a job. He'd been hired to steal a priceless bust from an estate…an estate that happened to have a moat, a secret underwater entrance, and a couple of alligators.

Roman later beat the man who hired him to death with the bust, the frankly hideous pieces of 'art' cleaned, and sold it cheap: five hundred thousand lien. It hurt his repertoire with future customers, and he would be sure to not make the same mistake twice, but in his eyes, the act itself was well worth any form of consequence.

Needless to say, Roman Torchwick was not very pleased when he was suddenly teleported fifty feet above the surface of the Greatpine Gulf; specifically, the body of water that sat hundreds of feet below the giant bridge which upheld the great prison that was Allsievv Penitentiary, the largest prison on the island of Patch.

The bridge stretched out of the mainland, held to the mountainous earth by a combination of support beams and welded twists of metal cord. It jutted out about a mile over the gulf; an enormous complex of metal, steel, and oppression, marring what was an otherwise rather scenic location, as the gulf was full of aquatic flora, particularly the eponymous greatpines: enormous trees covered in neon blue needles with bright yellow tips that glowed half a nautical mile below the gulf's surface, giving the surface of the water the look of a star-encrusted sky.

Roman couldn't exactly appreciate the beauty of this. At that moment, he was desperately fighting to keep his head above water. Great amounts of sappy sea water filled his throat and his lungs, dragging him down, choking him, and surrounding him truly and completely. His sheer surprise of being suddenly teleported combined with his distaste for open water nearly overwhelmed him. If you'd asked him about what happened after he nearly drowned, he would have told you that he would have most definitely collected himself before anything drastic happened, and that he certainly hadn't needed the help of some mute shrimp he hadn't even been formally introduced to.

Even so, not a moment before Roman's outstretched fingertips sunk below the surface, a petite hand grasped his, and, with a simply disproportionate amount of strength for someone of its owner's stature, pulled him up to the edge of a concrete bridge foundation. Roman managed to help himself from that point on, dragging himself up onto the only solid surface for a hundred yards, coughing up the sap water that vivaciously stuck to the inside of his lungs. Eventually, his throat exhausted, he crawled over to the concrete pillar connecting his sanctuary from the water and the bridge itself, and leaned his back against it, taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in months.

"Never," he choked out through barely controlled breaths, "never, _ever_ , do that, again. Ugh…" He finally looked up at the prison he had just been busted out of, and had the courtesy to look impressed at the marvelous construct. "You know…it's a lot more appealing…from, the _outside_ , huh?"

Knowing she wasn't going to answer him verbally, he looked to her to find that she wasn't even up for her usual smile of acknowledgement. She was rather preoccupied with trying very hard to stay conscious. She was laid on her side, shallow breaths escaping her half-parted lips, her eyes shut tight in strain, her hand clamped to her forehead.

"I'm guessing that took a lot outta you," he began in a cautionary tone, a hand grasping her ankle, the closest part of her body to him, "but we have about four seconds before they ring up the alarm, and I'm not about to swim to shore with your dead weight on my shoulders."

She glared at him through the corner of her eye, but remained prone. Roman groaned in annoyance; he was hoping to hitch another teleportation, but it looked like he was going to have to swim his way to freedom. He heard alarms blaring from high up above, and looked distastefully towards the starry-ocean surface.

Well…one last try couldn't hurt.

"Last chance," he warned, standing up and mentally preparing himself to dive into the watery depths. He shouldn't have bothered. She was already asleep, ignorant and uncaring of his plight in her unconscious state. Roman took a moment to scrutinize her disheveled form: the thick water intermingling with the sweat of strain, the drenched medical coat clinging to the tarnished yet expensive clothes that she wore underneath, the strawberry and chocolate hair that was spread wildly across the water-worn concrete below her…everything before him, he saw, and everything he knew, he was reminded of.

Roman let out a string of curses, tucked the girl under his arm, and dove.

* * *

"…probably lost the scent by now. Another day should do me well, just to be safe…"

She awoke to the sound of his haughty voice, and with a familiar pain in her head. Her hands pushed against the ground below her to prop herself up, and felt the rustic texture of dusty wood beneath their fingertips. Confused, she groggily lifted her head and opened her eyes, gazing at her surroundings through the haze of her headache.

She appeared to be on the floor of a house's kitchen; an abandoned house, if the disheveled look of the place and the lack of furniture was anything to work off of. From a broken window to her left, she could make out the pale shine of the shattered moon hanging in the night sky. The man she had just risked her life was on his feet, leaning against the counter, his eyes lidded, tired. He had managed to find a change of clothes, but the torn tan pants and stained undershirt wasn't much of an upgrade from his prison garb. His socks were worn at the heel, revealing his blistered feet; he'd been running. Most notably, he had a makeshift bandage wrapped around his left forearm, sections of its exterior stained in dried blood.

The girl could have sworn that he hadn't had stubble when she'd met him. Despite that, as he angled his head to face her, his emerald eyes still as bright and mischievous as ever, she could see the prickly beginnings of a beard on his face . He smiled ever so slightly, and crouched down slowly, his tired bones cracking in protest.

"Gotten your fill of beauty sleep, have you?" Roman squinted. "Though I can't tell if it's done you any good. If anything, it's been a bit of an inconvenience. I'm already a wanted man, and dragging a limp body across the county doesn't exactly make me any less conspicuous."

The girl groaned as she slowly but surely got to her feet, swaying unsurely in place. She didn't notice the blanket that fell from her shoulders.

"Well, aren't you a little trooper…" Roman said sweetly, yet groggy still from lack of sleep. He at least had the decency to stand up straight instead of remaining crouched, even if he towered over the girl in either case. "I'm glad you're up and about, because we've got a full night…" He contemplated for a moment. "Rather, we've got a full _morning_ ahead of us. First thing tomorrow morning, we-"

The girl cut him off with a wave of her hand, a simple motion that nearly sent her off balance. She then raised both hands and furrowed her brow in a universal sign of lacking apprehension. Roman caught on quickly enough, catching himself and clearing his throat.

"I take it you want to know what happened since you've been out." The girl nodded. "Look, I'm not about to divulge in the little details. Not much happened. You passed out under the bridge, and I got us to the closest shore, which led into the forest. I left some false trails to confuse the law, and as you can see, they worked." He gestured to the wall meaningfully. "I found this place a day or two after your little stunt. And here we've remained." He looked down at himself appreciatively. "Good thing whoever lived here had duds in my size. A bit out of style, but then again, so is the whole 'cabin in the woods' thing."

Roman noticed how the girl's eyes seemed to linger on his arm.

"Oh, this?" he said, raising his bandaged limb questioningly. "That happened on way to the shore. Prison guard got a lucky shot. I'm fine, by the way, thanks for asking." The girl frowned at that. "Passed the bone and went out the other end. It tore some muscle, but hey, that's what aura is for. And while we're on the subject of aura…that was quite a trick you pulled back there." He leaned back against the countertop and crossed his arms, granting the girl a half-impressed look. "But despite how useful teleportation can be, it's significantly less so if the user tends to pass out afterwards."

The girl backed up to the wall behind her for support, pressing her back against it and trying to listen to Roman through the ache in her skull. The moonlight gave him a slight silhouette in the dark room, brightening the outline of his form with pale white light. The girl focused on him and shook her head.

"Must we play charades?" Roman said seriously. With a nod from the girl, he grimaced, shook his head, and decided to play along. "Let's hope I get used to it. Fine. What do you mean to disagree with? Did it have to do with teleporting?"

A nod.

"Okay..." Roman rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Do you normally lose that much aura when you teleport, so much so that you lose consciousness? Or is this a special case involving some factor I'm unaware of?"

She raised her hand, snapped, and extended two fingers. Roman filed that hand gesture away in his mind.

"Alright, a special case. That means I…" He hesitated before continuing, "…that means we can still utilize this, so long as you're aware of the risks involved at the factors at play. What's the factor in this case?"

The girl paused, thinking of an appropriate gesture. She settled on raising both palms, facing them with each other, and then pushed and pulled them apart from each other. Roman nodded in understanding quickly, meeting her expectations of his intelligence.

"Distance. And I take it that teleporting me along with you didn't exactly help matters?" A shake of her head confirmed his assumptions. Roman sighed, and rubbed at his temples. "Alright, well…we can figure out the details on that later. First, we need to establish a base of operations for whatever it is you hired me for. I know you didn't break me out of the toughest prison on the island just for some small-change shit, or of the bloody variety, given your treatment of the late Ms. Sapphire, so we'll need some place from which to allocate some resources, stake out our hit, and plan this thing accordingly."

Roman pulled a thick wad of paper from his back pocket, unfolded it, spread it out across the countertop, and beckoned the girl with a finger. She complied, crossing the room as steadily as she could, and looked down at what appeared to be a decrepit map of Remnant before giving Roman a questioning look.

"It was in one of the drawers." Roman shrugged. "Can't blame a man for searching every inch of a place if he comes up with useful things like these. In any case, just point to the general location of our hit, and I'll work out a location for a base."

The girl thought for a moment, her mismatched eyes gliding over the dusty map, wondering just how much she should give away. After ten or so seconds, she finally deliberated, and pressed a finger down on the upper-class district of the coastal city of Vale.

"Alright…" Roman mused, staring down at her pale, thin digit. "I can work with that. I know a guy down in the residential district that owes me a favor. If I play my cards right, he could get us a place up near the big wigs, and then you can tell me all about this job." He rolled his eyes. "Or maybe you'll mime it. That could be amusing."

He promptly ignored the smirked directed at his back as he made to exit the room. Before he crossed into the next room, he stopped himself, as if reminded of something, and turned around.

"Listen, we've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. Getting from Patch to Vale with the police looking for us isn't going to be the easiest thing in the world. Do yourself a favor and get some shuteye. This place is pretty much cleared, so there's no bed, but feel free to make yourself comfortable with that blanket over there." He gestured to the blanket the girl had shrugged off upon standing. "It's the only one I could find. I'll be in the other room. If you need anything, and I do mean _anything_ , I won't care, because being up for seventy two hours tends to do that. Wake me up, and I'll pull out all of your teeth." He flashed her a humorless smile before making himself scarce.

The girl was left in silence. After a moment, she crossed the room to the center of the floor, where her blanket lay forgotten. She sat down, her long hair grazing the hardwood, and looked about the room. Eventually, she looked down at herself, and saw that she was still wearing the same psychiatrist outfit. Her lithe fingers clenched the little metal name tag on the chest of her coat, pulled it off, and tossed it in the metal trash bin across the room…but curiously enough, there was no familiar clang of metal against metal. In a state of boredom and intrigue, she got to her feet and looked into the trash bin, only to stare at its contents.

A clump of dirty, blood stained bandages.

She blinked.

Then she smiled.

Then she smiled wider.

The next morning, when Roman Torchwick stood to face the day, a small blanket rolled off of his body and onto the cabin floor.

* * *

 **A/N: Updated the chapter twice on the same day of posting because of typos. Blegh.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Guards

She awoke to the sound of a woodpecker.

The first thing that caught her attention was the change of clothes laying on the kitchen table next to her. The second thing she noticed were how ridiculously oversized the clothes would be on her.

A red and black flannel shirt that would reach her shins, a pair of sweatpants that would barely grasp her slender hips: two things that, while oversized for her, looked a lot better when she considered that she had been wearing a stolen psychiatrist outfit for the past sixty hours.

She found it vaguely amusing that she had been conscious for around two of those sixty hours.

Just as she finished changing, she heard an obnoxious yawn sound off behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to see Roman Torchwick standing in the kitchen doorway, stretching his arms above his head.

"Morning, boss," he greeted in a voice awash in sarcasm. "Ah, you like the new duds? I know they're not exactly fit to please, but it's the only change in clothes I could find in this place."

The girl narrowed her eyes and looked Roman up and down, pointedly eyeing his white shirt and tan pants. He didn't have the courtesy to look sheepish.

"That is, the only change of clothes that I hadn't called dibs on," he clarified with a smile. "I don't do plaid, and sweatpants would just make me look unemployed."

He crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe, and looked with mild interest out the broken window. An orange leaf floated down from the roof. A blue and white bird darted by the glass. From what he could see of the sky, the day was bright blue and unmarred by clouds. It was a good day for a walk, fortunately for him.

"But don't worry it too much," he continued, his attention drifting back to the tiny girl wearing clothes that were clearly meant for a husky woodsman. "If all goes well, you'll be in a new set of clothes in around…" He hesitated, running numbers in his head. "Let's say…two to three hours. Three and a half, at the absolute latest."

The girl raised an eyebrow above her chocolate brown eye. Roman shook his head and sagged his shoulders in a show of exaggerated exasperation.

"Listen, could you at least convey to me as to whether you're mute or not? At least then I would know if we're just wasting time on petty theatrics. Not that I don't enjoy petty theatrics…I just prefer my own over others…well? Can you or can you not speak?"

The girl smiled and shrugged. The young man rubbed at his temples with both hands.

"Theatrics it is." He sighed to himself. "Well, maybe we'll have some fun along the way…okay!" He suddenly clapped his hands together and grinned widely, confusing yet interesting the girl in his sudden change of emotion. "My dear employer, I have the distinct pleasure of informing you that I have a plan for getting to Vale."

Her only reply was a grumble from her stomach. Roman gestured to her torso with a single finger.

"I am slightly less pleased to inform you that breakfast is a non-option," he spoke it a somewhat disappointed tone; a tone which was soon replaced by one of excitement. "Not that we'd have time for it anyways." He rapped on the doorframe with his knuckles, and turned around, walking at a brisk pace towards the front door of the cabin. "Alright, let's get this show on the road! We've got an air transport to Vale with our name on it to catch!"

* * *

"…Well, technically it's Headmaster Arthur's air transport to Vale, but I don't think he'll mind if we hitch a ride. What do you think?"

Roman's whisper hummed in the girl's ears from their prone position in the school's courtyard. From what he had told her, the only landmark on the 'backwater' island of Patch was Signal Academy, one of the most prestigious primary institutions for Hunters in all of Remnant. Why they built it here and not the mainland, they had no idea. All they needed to know was that the school frequently sent air transports back and forth from Vale in order to resupply on essentials: food, ammunition, and metal tarnish, among other things. Roman had figured that these transports were garrisoned by security officers hired by the school, and, lo and behold, about a hundred feet from the thieves' position were two security guards flanking the large ship's primary entry point.

Roman looked off to the side, silently turning his head, to appreciate the architecture of Signal Academy. The building was a single, yet enormous, ivory tower that stretched hundreds of feet into the sky. At the zenith of the structure was an upside down dome constructed of immaculate glass that contained a gargantuan torch. The torch's mystical purple flame licked at the skies, accenting the sunset with its violet glow.

As for Roman's question, the girl didn't think much, except that she was dirty, hungry, and irritated with the day as a whole. Tromping through the wilderness while drowning in clothing was quite the ordeal; not an exhausting one, just an annoying one. Untangling the legs of one's sweatpants from an array of rugged underbrush begins to wear on a person after the third occurrence.

She could tell he wasn't waiting for an answer, and that most likely he was just taking the opportunity to remind her that she hadn't voiced her opinions with him at any point. Even though she wasn't going to answer, however, her body had other plans, as a rumble from her stomach lead Roman to raise a hand to his mouth, stifling laughter.

"Hey, the sooner we get on that ship, the sooner we can raid its pantry," Roman offered in a hushed voice. "And the soonest way to get on board is getting those two gentlemen out of the picture."

The girl nodded, grinned eagerly, and shifted herself as if to get up when Roman motioned for her to remain still. She raised an eyebrow at his request, but did as he instructed…for the time being.

"I'm sure you'd be up for some up-close action, but allow _me_ to remind _you_ that _you_ …hired _me_." His voice was faux-silk, a mocking yet soothing tone with just a hint of reprimand. "Besides, you may find this entertaining. I certainly will."

Without any form of preamble, he began to rip up random sections of his clothing; a tear on his right sleeve, one down the neckline of his shirt, another on a leg of his pants. Whilst the girl looked at him in curious confusion, he scooped dirt from the ground they were laying on and spread it over his face and forearms. Finally, while remaining prone, he crawled backwards until he was in the forest that surrounded the courtyard.

While the girl had no idea what the man was doing, the last thing she expected from him was for him do something as blatantly stupid and risky as what he did next.

"Help!" Roman yelled, breaking from the tree line and running to the center of the courtyard. "Help, they're right behind me!" His face was the perfect image of panic, his eyes wide, and his movement erratic. The guards, predictably, raised their assault weapons and took aim at the raving redhead.

"Halt!" one of them yelled out, the top half of his face concealed with a glass visor attached to his security helmet. "State your business!"

Roman didn't respond to the guard. Instead, he continued to sprint up the courtyard until he was around twenty feet from the two guards, at which point he fell to the ground on his knees and pointed behind himself with a shaky finger.

"Beowolves!" he screamed, wild-eyed and delirious. "A whole pack of them! I barely got away, but they're coming! They're almost upon us! Please, help, _help!_ "

The guards looked to each other uncertainly for around three seconds before making a decision. They both ran up to Roman until he was safely behind them, and pointed their guns into the underbrush, looking for Grimm that simply weren't coming.

In fact, they were so busy looking for Grimm that didn't exist, they didn't even hear Roman as he stood up, took a nonchalant step towards them, positioned his rigid palms over the exposed flesh of their necks, and sent them both into unconsciousness simultaneously.

The girl simply stared at Roman, who dusted his hands off on his pants before placing on his hips and looking appreciatively down at his victims, their bodies lying in the dirt at his feet. He took a long, drawn out sigh of relief; he had missed this feeling. Then he blinked, glanced about the courtyard to make sure no one was around, and looked to the girl expectantly.

"Well? Do I have to drag the bodies into the bushes myself? Or do you just want to be the one who snaps their necks?"

* * *

It's a bit insulting how security guards are often seen as the moral opposite to nameless mooks in that they're a dime a dozen, easily replaced, virtually useless in the face of a great threat, and, most importantly, identical. However, there are instances in which a security guards ambiguity in the mind their superiors can come in handy…but rarely for the security guard's themselves.

In short, they make for effective disguises.

…When the disguises are fit to size, anyways.

"Hold still…" He kept his voice down; he both doubted the supply closet door was soundproof and didn't want to take the chance of letting someone walking by hear what they were up to. With plenty of time before takeoff, he was crouched down in front of his savior, his hands busying themselves with tucking the legs of her pants inwards.

She didn't look comfortable. Whether it was from his close proximity, the restricted space of the closet that was causing said proximity, or some combination of the two, Roman didn't know, but a part of his mind desperately wanted to know. It was a cold and calculating part. The part that sought out weakness, the part that didn't take chances, the part that recognized the usefulness of knowing whether or not someone is claustrophobic.

The only sound in the closet was that of shallow breath and rusted scissors. Roman cut the overflowing fabric off of the legs of the girl's new black pants slowly and carefully, making sure to be as even as possible. He did the same for her sleeves, and instructed her to tuck her shirt in; it would save him some work. As she silently did as she was told, Roman brushed his fingers against top shelf of one of three supply lockers, then the middle shelf, then the bottom.

"C'mon, c'mon…" he breathed out, his eyes searching for the tool he needed for adding the final touch to the girl's disguise. It wasn't until the bottom shelf of the third supply locker that he found what he was looking for. He turned back to the girl, who was leaning against the wall, her face an enigma.

"The sleeve," he said concisely, holding out a hand. The girl looked up at him and frowned, causing him to roll his eyes and readdress her. "May I?" He wasn't put off that she wanted him to ask. He just found it a bit childish.

With a slight smile, the girl complied, placing her wrist in Roman's hand. The thread and needle did quick work. He folded the cut sleeve over on itself and sewed it down, creating an impromptu cuff. This, along with cutting her clothing to size, wasn't a perfect solution to the situation with her outfit, but it would do for the time being. He repeated the process with her other sleeve before crouching down and starting with pants legs, taking the opportunity to make some choice observations.

"I don't suppose you've ever been complimented for your lovely ankles?"

* * *

Roman and the girl knew that they would have to act the part of guards if they were to make it to Vale. They expected that they would be standing guard over precious cargo, or even be requested to stand by a member of Signal's faculty.

What they didn't expect was be chewed out nearly immediately after takeoff.

"Sir, we were instructed to man this transport-" Roman lied though his teeth into the gruff mug of his 'superior', a rather burly and scarred copper-skinned man who was, at the time, angrily informing two of his 'subordinates' that they had no business on this ship.

"If you were instructed by anyone other than myself, then you had no reason to abide by their command," the man who was presumably the captain of the guard reprimanded. He glared back and forth between the tiny girl and Roman. "Were they the two guards I had stationed to oversee takeoff?"

Both Roman and the girl nodded with calculated hesitation. The Captain closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the physical action would hold back the torrent of anger running through his veins.

"Sir..." Roman began carefully, "They informed…well….they _told_ us that they had been reassigned, and that we needed to take their place 'guarding the transport'. Those were their exact words, sir. We took it to mean that we were to be stationed on board. We would have cleared it with you, sir, but there was a Grimm on board."

The Captain's attention snapped to Roman, his eyes widening in surprise.

"A Grimm on board?" He repeated disbelievingly.

"An Ursa in food storage, sir," Roman lied. "We dealt with it, but by the time Nancy and I got there," he gestured to the girl, "the Ursa had diminished nearly all of the supply of dried meats."

The girl smirked imperceptivity.

"We'll have to resupply upon landing…" The Captain mused under his breath before raising his voice. "You're telling me that there was a Grimm on board, and that you two were busy dealing with it during takeoff?" The guards nodded. The Captain sighed to himself in resignation. "…Well, we're on a tight schedule as it is, so I'm not about to turn the ship around just to get you two back to Signal…fine. You'll both receive punishment for your negligence once the trip is concluded and we return to Patch, but for now, I'm assigning you both to guard over the students."

Roman and the girl looked to each other, confused, before returning their attention to the Captain.

"Students, sir?" Roman asked, uncomprehending of what the Captain had said. "We were under the impression that this was a supply transport."

"Whatever 'impression' you've been under has been false." The Captain scowled. "Use your heads. Why would I be overseeing a supply transport?"

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing, dumbstruck. It wasn't an often occurrence, but at that very moment, he was at a loss for words.

"The students are in the mess hall, having dinner, "The Captain informed briskly. "You'll oversee them until 2100 hours, then escort them to their quarters. The mess hall is down the hall behind you on the first left, and their quarters are down the hall behind me on the second right. After they're all settled, you'll go straight to bed in the guest quarters – directly across the hall from the student's quarters – and report to me in the cockpit at 0600." He paused before leaning down condescendingly. "I assume you can both figure out where the cockpit is?"

Roman blinked, baffled, before saluting, his fellow 'guard' following suit. "We understand, sir."

"See that you do," the Captain grumbled before turning around and walking down the hall, back straight and shoulders back, leaving Roman and the girl to look to each other in thought at the unforeseen development in their escape. Roman waiting until the Captain was out of earshot before voicing his main concern.

"…Students?"


End file.
